


To Face Unafraid

by uniqueinalltheworld



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Shmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniqueinalltheworld/pseuds/uniqueinalltheworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A free winter day around Skyhold leads to snowy kisses and a fireside romp. </p><p>(holiday Adoribull fic exchange for KidVoodoo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Face Unafraid

It has long since stopped being a matter of life and death for Dorian, and Bull is glad. Instead, “don’t get caught” has become their favorite game. Not with sex, oh, probably it would be with sex in the summer, when the grass will be soft and green and bared skin will risk only humiliation instead of frostbite when it touches the stones of the buildings in Skyhold’s courtyard. For now, though, Bull sticks to kissing.

He tugs Dorian by the gloved wrist into a corner on the battlements. They’re not ten steps from the privacy of their own room but this is more fun somehow. Colder, certainly. “Patrol will come by in about forty seconds, kadan,” he whispers, encroaching on Dorian’s space. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Dorian’s huff of a laugh is betrayed by the frigid air. It comes out like a plume of white smoke and Bull would never tell Dorian but part of the reason he puts up with Skyhold’s cold is to see physical evidence of his lover’s happiness. It makes up for the snow coming down and the icicles on the roofs and the fact that yesterday Cole somehow got his tongue stuck to the metal gates. Dorian gives him a coy smirk. “I suppose you’re expecting me to kiss you for thirty-nine seconds.”

Bull shrugs. “I definitely wouldn’t hate it.”

“I suppose neither would I.” Here in the snow, Dorian’s mouth feels warmer than any hot chocolate they could have had (which, come to think of it, Bull has a bit of stashed away in their room for a day just like this) and his arms, wrapped around Bull’s neck like a second scarf, are a delightful contrast to the gentle prickle of snowflakes settling on Bull’s head.

They kiss for a good forty-two seconds by Bull’s count. Long enough that they both hear the crunching of armored boots in virgin snow when Bull pulls away and the two of them rush, giggling, to their room and close the door.

“We have hot chocolate,” Bull offers.

“Mmm, I’d rather have you,” Dorian answers. “Chocolate after.”

Bull grins. “Fine by me.”

Bull kisses him, their mouths still warm against the lingering chill, and then tumbles Dorian to the thick fur rug laid before their fire.

The rug, from one of the literal dozens of bears they killed in the Hinterlands, is thick and warm. The fire is always, always going. Both are Dorian's additions to the room that used to be Bull's he loves them. He had never realized before that his feet ached with cold in the mornings. Now it never happens. Now, he has a reason besides hangovers to linger in bed when he really ought to be leading morning training. The softness around his middle has grown softer over months—nearly a year—that they’ve been together. Bull found that as long as Dorian continued to love laying across it like a pillow, he was just fine with that.

Dorian casts off his overcoat, and the scarf with it. His cheeks are pinked from being outdoors. Bull pulls off his outer things as well, then leans over Dorian’s prone form, shaking the accumulated snow from his horns onto his lover’s unprotected face. It says much about Dorian’s good mood that he merely laughs, scoops up the snow, and shoves it back into Bull’s bared chest. Bull hisses at the cold, and presses himself to Dorian’s chest.

“Get off me, you great lummox, or I’ll never get undressed.”

Bull obliges, shucking his own pants in the process. Dorian throws his shirt at him, pitching it in order to best get it tangled in his horns. Bull tosses the shirt away, smirks, lays himself down next to Dorian. Dorian passes him the oil, clay bottle warmed by virtue of its place near the hearth.

Bull presses sucking kisses to Dorian’s hip, slickened fingers to his entrance. Dorian opens easily for him, and Bull wonders again at the fact that, from the very beginning, Dorian’s body has felt like home. It is the only thing that ever has. Dorian’s hand travels from Bull’s horns to cradle the back of his skull.

Dorian’s cock is hard against Bull’s cheek, and he shifts to take it into his mouth. He sucks slowly, languid in the fire’s warmth and Dorian’s touch. Dorian lets loose an appreciative moan, arcing his torso back and releasing Bull’s head to draw his hands up his own chest.

Bull eyes the motion appreciatively, watching the movement of acres of smooth brown skin before him, feeling the hard cant of Dorian’s hips as he thrusts into Bull’s mouth. Dorian reaches back down to tug at Bull's horns and, while it could hardly be called "being rough with him," Bull loves when Dorian gets like this, blissful enough to simply take what he wants. And he does.

When Dorian feels open enough, he presses Bull back against the rug, and mounts him in a few short motions, rocking back and forth as he adjusts to the stretch. Dorian doesn't so much bounce up and down--there will be a time for athletic, sweaty bouncing and it is not right now--as he does roll his hips, slowly, but firmly, the circular motion giving Bull just enough stimulation to keep him on the edge. Dorian takes his own cock in hand, clever fingers moving up and down its length. Bull simply places his hands on either side of Dorian's waist and enjoys the view, thrusting up occasionally when the sensations become too much for him to handle without reacting to them.

Dorian comes long before Bull, already having been on the edge from the fingering and the blowjob. He splatters himself across Bull's belly and chest, and Bull smiles up at him. It feels good, like belonging to someone.

Dorian smiles back.

Dorian keeps going after he comes, his motions becoming rougher as he nears Bull's end. He braces his hands on Bull's shoulders for support, and the new angle does incredible things for Bull's cock.

Dorian climbs off of him when his rocking becomes too much for his over-sensitized body, and Bull comes with Dorian's mouth wrapped around him instead. Dorian spits elegantly into a handkerchief and Bull pulls him up to kiss the taste from his mouth.

Dorian wipes Bull off, the fabric soft against his skin, then throws the crumpled handkerchief into the heap with most of the rest of his clothes. He spreads himself out on the rug, head resting on Bull’s splayed arm. “I believe I was promised hot chocolate,” he says.

Bull glances at him, lazy and warm. “You know I can’t get up while you’re using me as a pillow.”

Dorian shrugs, moves closer. “We’ve waited this long,” he says.

Bull nods, feels warmer than he can ever remember. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi at [Eugenideswalksintoabar](http://eugenideswalksintoabar.tumblr.com)


End file.
